


Grab Me By My Ankles, I’ve Been Flying For Too Long

by sevdepayne



Series: I'd Walk To You If I Had No Other Way [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Champions League, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I hid a few ships I'm lowkey shipping, M/M, Minor Injuries, guess what are they, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 10:04:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14306349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevdepayne/pseuds/sevdepayne
Summary: A dream, an injury, a malfunctioning cell phone, and an unexpected defeat are valid reasons to find yourself in Cologne when you're supposed to be in Barcelona.





	Grab Me By My Ankles, I’ve Been Flying For Too Long

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry that the characters are OOC and it's too fluffy, but I guess we all need this much cutiness after all.
> 
> The title is from Florence + The Machine - A Sky Full of Song. Enjoy!

_It was beautiful. Just completely and utterly beautiful._

_An empty street before them, sitting on a bench in a bus stop, their knees were touching and shoulders were bumping. His head was on Bernd’s shoulder, their fingers were intertwined, and the sun was shining brightly upon them, highlighting Bernd’s features._

_He was happy like that, tucked under Bernd’s arm, his nose pressed against his lover’s neck, inhaling his distinct smell of grass and aftershave he’s been using since he was 19._

_He had no idea why they are in a bus stop of all places, but Bernd was seemed to be content with sitting on a metal bench for no apparent reason. He looked up to tell him that they can go to his place, but before he even opened his mouth to say something, Bernd kissed him with a little smile on his lips._

_“The bus is on its way,” Bernd said. “It will be here in any minute.”_

_How much time has passed or how much more they had to wait for the bus to arrive, that was an unknown for him. All he knew was that he could wait with Bernd in that bus stop for hours, days, or even weeks. Hand in hand, watching a deserted street and waiting for a bus that might be coming or not._

_He was okay with that, he was content._

_He had no idea when he fell asleep, but when he woke up he was no longer tucked under Bernd’s arm but instead cradled against his chest. He looked up to see Bernd still smiling down at him, stroking his cheekbone with one hand and his hair with the other. Bernd leaned down a little to kiss him good morning, and their lips were so close that he could taste the cinnamon in Bernd’s breath, only a second apart from each other. He tilted his head to meet him halfway and…_

And then, nothing.

He just wakes up from his sleep without any reason, with a mind still in that bus stop, disoriented and disappointed. He just sits in the middle of his king-sized bed in that dull hotel room the team was staying in, alone and cold and with an unreasonable emptiness in his heart that feels like it won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

In the end, it was only a dream.

In the end, it takes only a dream to realize how much you miss someone even though you act like you’re too tough to miss them easily.

And of course, it takes only that dream to mess with your head even before your day starts.

***

Marc spends two hours in his bed tossing and turning, unable to go back to sleep. At some point, he considered getting up and starting his day early, but doing so would mean that his meaningless dream affected him more than he would like to admit. So, getting up before the alarm is definitely not an option to begin with.

(Hugging the spare pillow in his bed and pretending it’s his fellow keeper is probably mean the same defeat, but Marc just shrugs that thought out of his head and holds the pillow tighter.)

When his alarm clock rings at 7:30, he immediately gets up and throws himself under the unbearably cold shower in order to collect his thoughts. They have a game to play ahead of them, a semi-final to reach, a treble to win. He can’t let his own feelings and inner struggle ruin their perfect strike. He is at least that professional to deal with his problems in his own time.

After his shower, Marc feels more like himself rather than the walking corpse that left his bed the moment his alarm rang. He quickly gets dressed and goes downstairs, where the open buffet is waiting for him to have a great breakfast and forget his worries at least until tomorrow. The blonde keeper immediately locates the fruit salad he likes to eat before the games, alongside with his black coffee.

Even though he likes to sit by himself in a game day to collect his thought and focus properly, today Marc decides to sit with Geri, Jordi, and Luis. Maybe their usual loudness is all he needs to cancel out the desperate night he survived.

Geri and Jordi are teasing Luis about scoring his last away goal in Champions League against Roma almost three years ago and Marc feels himself more at ease than he was feeling that morning. Of course, his phone chooses that moment to buzz against his right leg.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket in order to put it in silence, but the ridiculous amount of texts on his main screen makes him curious enough to read them. They were all coming from the same person.

 **From Mats (08:03):** did you see it???

                                               and if you did, have you talked to him?

                                               we tried but he’s not answering

                                               I know you have a game to play 2nite

                                               but maybe you should check on him

                                               mülli won’t shut up about it if you don’t

“Is everything okay, sunshine?” Geri asks him with his famous half concerned-half teasing attitude.

“It’s just guys from NT, they’re asking something.”

“If they’re asking who we choose to trash in semis, tell ‘em we want Real for the finale,” Jordi says when he gets up to grab another coffee, laughing at his own joke.

 **To Mats (08:06):** what r u talkin abt???

 **From Mats (08:07):** see yourself

                                       (Attached: 1 Video)

The video is from yesterday’s Leverkusen game, starting with their opponents ( _Is it Leipzig?? They’re winning 1-4 against Leipzig??? That’s impressive_ ) another attack to try and make a comeback. So, Marc knows his fellow goalie like the back of his hand, and based on his history of being recklessly brave, Marc is so sure that it will be another broken nose or a bleeding lip or a deep cut in his forehead.

 _Oh, no blood this time. That’s new,_ he thinks when he sees the position.

“Ouch, that must hurt like hell,” Geri comments on his left. Marc didn’t even notice when he started to watch the video with him as well. “Is that your keeper friend?”

“Yeah, it’s Bernd,” he answers. “He survived worse, I mean, at least he’s not bleeding all over the ground this time. That’s an improvement for him.”

The video is still continuing and Marc is thinking “ _okay, how many more times will they show that moment?”_ when it suddenly starts to show the end of the game. Bernd’s there in the middle, still on his feet, but surrounded by his teammates and their staff.

Even though Marc can’t understand the whole deal of this video at first, the camera zooms in on the keeper and it is so obvious why Mats and Mülli and god knows who else was so worried about Bernd.

He is crying in the middle of the pitch, their backup goalie and Lars trying to comfort him but failing miserably. It isn’t like his angry-cry or upset-cry or I’m-so-mad-at-you-Marc-Andre-ter-Stegen-fuck-off-right-now cry.

It is a cry that Marc has never seen before, entirely helpless and scared like that.

The video ended there but Marc can’t tear his eyes away from the screen, his other hand is subconsciously trying to reach out to Bernd as if it’s possible to have an effect on something that happened while he was sleeping last night.

“Are you okay?” this time it was Andres sneaking up behind him, peeking over his shoulder. “You look a bit green, is it because of the game?”

Marc just lets out a nervous laugh, completely fake and not at all convincing. “I’m fine, Capi. I guess I ate too much in an instant,” he says. “Why would I feel bad about the game, it’s not like we’re going to blow a lead like that.”

It takes a lot more effort to fool the legendary Andres Iniesta, but he gets up before his captain has a chance to say anything. “I have to make a phone call, I’ll see you later.”

He walks as fast as he can without looking like he’s in a hurry, goes out to the patio and finds himself a deserted bench to sit. He doesn’t even bother to find his contact info, just dials the number he knows by heart for years. He takes a deep breath and waits for Bernd to pick up the damn phone, and after the fourth ring he finally hears the “Hi,” he’s been waiting for.

Apparently a wicked witch decided that it’s a beautiful day to put a curse on them, because before he can say anything back, his phone goes crazy and suddenly, it’s gone. And before he can do anything about it, someone yelling his name and telling him that it’s the time for the tactical meeting.

He goes to the meeting with the same state of mind he woke up with.

***

Earlier that day, when Marc-Andre ter Stegen formed that sentence about blowing their lead not being possible, he definitely didn’t expect to end up so wrong like that.

Yet here they all are, waiting for the ground to open up and swallow them so that they won’t have to leave that locker room ever again. Facing the media, their fans, the other teams’ fans, their families and the people that they let down today… If anyone asks Marc what’s the worst part of his livelihood, without a doubt he would say the guilt that’s been piling up in your stomach after a game like this. A guilt so intense that keeps making you feel sick to your stomach, leaving a metallic taste in your mouth as if you’re tasting your own blood.

He wasn’t focused enough before and during the game. His mind was too full of a dream he didn’t get to see its end, a crying Bernd, and a phone call that was finished before even starting.

Apparently, Marc-Andre ter Stegen isn’t even half of the goalkeeper he thought himself of. Because what kind of goalkeeper lets himself get this much distracted in a game day to begin with?

Okay, he somewhat knows that it wasn’t just _his_ fault, they all chose that day to play like shit and it was the result that they deserve. But if you’re the one that’s standing between the goal posts, if you’re the one that’s supposed to be the last one to defeat in order to score a goal, it’s hard not to feel like the fault is entirely yours.

It’s just one of the perks of being a goalkeeper.

He was sitting on the floor so that if the ground really opens up, he doesn’t miss the chance of being swallowed. Some of his teammates are heading towards the showers, some of them are comforting each other, and some of them are looking like they don’t know what they’re supposed to do… Marc is aware all of them, it isn’t like he lost his consciousness or whatever. He is fully aware that Geri is still fuming with anger but still trying to comfort a crying Sergi. He is fully aware that for the last twenty minutes a devastated Andres and an equally devastated Sergio are trying to convince Leo to come out of the storage room he hid in. He is fully aware that little Ousmane is speaking with someone on the phone in German, but Marc has no idea what he’s saying even though he hears the words and knows what they mean.

He is fully aware of everything, and for a second, Marc just wishes to pass out on the dirty floor of that locker room.

When the loud voice of the engine starting fills his ears, he realized that he has no idea how he stood up, got dressed and found the right coach to board. The coach is unbearably silent and all of them trying so hard not to make eye contact with each other. On his left, Jordi pretends to be asleep even though it’s so obvious that he’s awake, and on his right, Geri and Sergi are discussing a serious-looking something in hushed voices.

Once again, he has no idea how he fell asleep but Andres woke him up with a gentle nudge. He lets his captain usher him towards their gate and sitting him down on a chair. The moment he sits down, he realizes that the dream he had last night felt so much more real than this moment.

“You need to pull yourself together,” Geri says from his right. And naturally, Marc didn’t even notice him sitting there to begin with.

“I know you goalkeepers have your own weird ways to think, but you need to get a grip,” he continues with that loud, clear voice of his. “It’s not like all of us were amazing and those three goals were only your fault. Today, we sucked together, collectively.”

He wants to say something in return but at the same time, he is so tired to form any sentence in any other language. To be honest, at that moment, he isn’t exactly sure that he can speak in German, too.

He just shrugs and lets Gerard understand what that means. As a response, he gets an eye roll and a huff from his friend.

“I swear to god I don’t get paid enough for this,” he says while getting up. “C’mon ter Stegen, it’s time for us to take a walk.”

Marc expected a long-ass speech from his friend about how it isn’t his fault and how it takes a team to win and lose a game, but contrary to his expectations, Geri stays silent during their little walk. He doesn’t have a clue of what’s the point of walking inside an airport, but he just follows in a haze.

After ten minutes of walking, Gerard stops all of a sudden. He turns to Marc and just points the gate they’re standing in front of.

“That gate, my friend, is for the plane that will be going to Cologne in 25 minutes. You’re going to go through that door and sit your ass on that plane. You can sleep during the flight, you look like you need another nap anyway. Then, you’re going to get off when the plane is landed, get a cab, tell the taxi driver to drive you to that goalie friend of yours, get better, and come back to the training on Thursday afternoon. You get it?” he looks at him, waiting for a response.

“WHAT?” Marc just says. Or maybe shouts. It doesn’t matter really, because everything Gerard said was just ridiculous to begin with.   

“Look, we get it. You need something to reset you and if your reset button is in Cologne, it’s fine with all of us,” he says. “So, Andres talked with the coach, he’s okay with this too as long as you come back on Thursday. It’s not a prank or anything, really. Just go, cuddle with your twin or whatever kinky stuff you’re up to, do that. Forget everything that happened today and come back to us as your usual, happy, sunshiney self on Thursday. Okay?”

“You’re serious?” Marc asks. “Like, really? It’s not really a prank and if I go through this gate I’ll be in Cologne?”

“Thanks for the trust, man, I knew you’d trust us in an instant,” Gerard says sarcastically. “Do you think any of us in the mood to do anything remotely funny? Really? See for yourself.”

When he looks down, he sees a boarding pass that’s written TER STEGEN, MARC-ANDRE and ROME-COLOGNE in bold letters. Gerard gives him the pass and practically shoves him towards the gate.

“Sergio already gave your bag to the flight attendant, ask for it when you board. Have fun and use protection,” he said.

Marc just turns his back to smack Geri on the head for that last bit, but his giant friend was already going back to where he’s supposed to be. He just mumbles a “Thank you,” to the emptiness and walks down the boarding bridge.

The nice flight attendant must’ve recognized him because she shows him his seat without even checking his boarding pass, gives him a blanket and a pillow and tells him that his belongings are in the overhead luggage rack above him.

Since he woke up that morning, Marc was a stranger to his own life as if he’s been watching everything behind a veil. Like it was a movie, but the movie was so uncomfortable that he wants to change the channel or completely leave the room but someone chained him in his chair and forcing him to watch that horrible movie till its end.

The moment he hears the “click” of his seat belt, Marc-Andre ter Stegen feels like he finally wakes up from a horrible nightmare.

The moment he hears the pilot saying that they’re ready for the take-off, Marc-Andre ter Stegen feels like that veil is disappeared.

The moment he’s about to fall asleep against the window after the take-off, Marc-Andre ter Stegen feels like that the chains that were forcing him to watch that horrible movie is gone.

***

Only when he opens the door of Bernd’s flat with his spare keys Marc realizes how late it is. His phone is still off since that morning, god knows what happened for his mobile to decide it’s a lovely day to stop functioning without any reason. Naturally, he couldn’t call or text Bernd to let him know he’s coming, but it isn’t like his other half would be partying out in a weekday or something.

As a result of their lack of communication, he finds Bernd sound asleep in his bedroom, hugging a pillow so tightly, his duvet only covering the bottom half of his body. The way Bernd hugs the spare pillow reminds him a similar position he was in last morning, and he briefly thinks whether Bernd is feeling the same loneliness he carried around with himself all day or not.

Careful not to wake him up in stupid-ass o’clock, Marc quickly changes to an old t-shirt and a pajama bottom he finds in Bernd’s drawers. He doesn’t even bother to brush his teeth, just climbs onto the bed and takes the pillow away from the other ‘keeper’s grasp.

The moment he lays in bed, Bernd shifts in his sleep, subconsciously searching the reason behind the heat coming from next to him. He finds the source in an instant and traps Marc in a bear hug, just like he was embracing his pillow a moment ago.

He isn’t so sure about whether Bernd is still asleep or not, but his lover shifts closer to him and tucks his head under his chin, kisses his neck as a silent hello. “I fell asleep while waiting for you,” he says, his sound is hoarse from sleep and the fact that his lips are still pressed against Marc’s skin. “Welcome.”

“You knew I’d be coming?” Marc asks while he’s making himself more comfortable. One of his hands finds its way to Bernd’s curls, the other is busy holding him right where he is. He leans down a little bit to kiss the top of his head as a response to Bernd’s silent hello.

“Someone texted me after your game, said that you’ll be here in a few hours,” he answers. “Unknown number, no names or anything. At first I thought it was a prank.”

Marc let out a tiny laugh, just hours ago he wasn’t even sure if he would ever be able to laugh like this again (okay, that was obviously an exaggeration, but anyway...), but with Bernd’s solid presence in his arms, he can’t bring himself to be the miserable, fuming Marc that left the airport in Rome.

“I’m glad it’s real though,” Bernd continues. “I know it wasn’t that long since we last saw he each other, international break ended like two weeks ago, but I missed you anyway.”

Never in a million years did Marc-Andre ter Stegen expect this kind of confession from Bernd, but maybe it’s because of the last two days’ events, maybe it’s because they’re both tired and it’s already half past four in the morning, or maybe just because Bernd felt his longing and wanted to let him know that he wasn’t alone in this, that the misery he felt when they’re apart is mutual. Whatever it is, Marc is just glad that he’s missed by Bernd the same way he misses him.

Okay, that’s probably selfish, but still…

“I missed you to,” he mutters in Bernd’s hair. He gets no response to that because Bernd’s already asleep, which is only natural considering the hour. He pulls the duvet on them and slowly drifts off as his lover, the one hand that was playing with Bernd’s hair a moment ago is now being held by the man itself, resting just a little above his own heart.

The last thing he thinks before falling asleep is that how much easier and brighter everything looks and feels when he has Bernd in his arms like that. He falls asleep with a ridiculous smile on his face, not even hearing the “I know,” Bernd says as a late response to him.

 

Marc wakes up with the soft music and the smell of freshly made coffee coming probably from his kitchen. Even though he’s awake, he refuses to open his eyes and find the reason behind the sounds and smell. He just wraps himself in the duvet tightly because the window’s open and the morning chill make him shiver.

He’s so comfortable and not at all eager to leave his bed when he realizes _“Holy shit! Someone is in my house,”_ and jumps out of the bed and panics. It takes him thirty seconds to realize that this is not even his house and it’s perfectly normal that someone else is in it, considering it _is_ Bernd’s house.

Only when he stands in the middle of Bernd’s bedroom like an idiot he remembers that a particularly nosy (yet incredibly helpful) teammate of his made him get on the plane destined for Cologne. He lets go of the breath he holds in and shakes his head fondly because he _is_ in Bernd’s bedroom and now he can hear Bernd’s humming along with the music. Also, the smell of scrambled eggs is now accompanying the coffee.

He goes to the en-suite for a quick shower to recover from his sleep, brushes his teeth with the spare toothbrush he has in Bernd’s house, and changes into a clean boxer and some other old but incredibly soft t-shirt Bernd has. When he’s about to leave the room, he sees a hoodie folded on top of the pile of clothes on top of the drawers, with a note attached to it.

_“Wear this, you looked like you’re about to catch a cold last night”_

It’s Bernd’s own DFB hoodie from the Confed Cup, the name “Die Mannschaft” written in Russian on its back. They’re more or less the same size but Bernd always insists on his hoodies to be a size bigger to him. He claims it’s comfier that way and Marc finds it adorable, even though he hates the long sleeves getting in his way.

He makes his way to the kitchen while rolling up the hoodie’s sleeves, but stops at the door, taking in the sight before him. Bernd’s wearing his usual Leverkusen hoodie with some black shorts, the bandage on his injured leg and the bruises around the knee are visible. He’s still singing along with the radio, surprisingly cheerful considering his knee.

Bernd doesn’t even notice him standing there, too busy with stirring whatever he’s cooking. He sneaks up on to him quietly and hugs him from behind, rests his face in his shoulder. “Should you really be on your feet like that?”

With that he catches Bernd’s attention, his other half turns around to face him and Marc _finally_ sees him properly. Not from a phone screen or a live broadcast while they’re miles apart, not in a nearly dark room where he can’t properly see his beautiful face, this time, he _really, completely, finally_ sees Bernd.

When did he get such a softie for Bernd, when did he fall for him this much, he doesn’t know. He only knows that the only thing his mind can come up with is _wow_ when he sees Bernd like that, so close to him that he can count his eyelashes one by one.

“Good morning to you, too, love,” Bernd teases. Then the older goalie pulls him in for a proper kiss, first slowly and then with more intent. It’s been years since they kissed for the first time, and call him a sap or whatever, but it still takes his breath away like their first kiss. It’s like finding the correct path in a maze, running towards it, and finally setting yourself free of the thick air that maze traps you in, finally being able to breathe the fresh air of forest and rain.

They are forced to break their kiss because the toaster next to the stove is now beeping, demanding their attention and whatever it’s on the stove is now five seconds away from being categorized as garbage material. Bernd goes back to fixing them breakfast, trying to save the scrambled eggs from burning.

While they’re eating their bagel sandwiches and yogurts on the couch, accompanied with a tennis game on TV that they’re barely watching, Marc asks the question he’s been waiting to ask since yesterday morning.

“Why were you crying after the game? Did it really hurt that much?”

At first, Bernd doesn’t respond, pretending to be too interested in the strawberries in his yogurt. Marc nudges the dimples on his cheeks with his finger, trying to make some form of eye contact with him.

“What is it, love?” Bernd asks him with a smile so innocent that anyone could believe he really didn’t hear what Marc asked. It’s a good thing that Marc-Andre ter Stegen isn’t anyone. Of course, Bernd’s fully aware that he can’t fool him like that.

He drops his yogurt bowl to the coffee table in front of them with a huff, turning towards Marc. “Of course it hurt, but it’s kinda okay now. Doesn’t hurt that much. At that time, I don’t know… It was more like a… relief, I guess?”

He reaches to Bernd then, cupping his cheek just like he wanted to do yesterday morning through the screen, pressing the tiniest kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You worried that it’ll be like Manu’s injury, right?”

Bernd only nods.

“It’s scaring me too, you know. That one day I’ll have to continue playing even though I’m in pain, and there’s no way it’ll get better,” he admits.

“You remember what Manu told us when we visited him? How he thought during the game like _‘this is the end, this is the game that’ll end my career’_ whenever he had to pass the ball with a broken foot?” Bernd asks him.

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I know what he meant by that now. But I’m okay now, I guess. Apparently all I needed was a good cry.”

“I wish I could be there,” Marc mumbles. “It would be a better alternative than the day I had.”

Bernd kisses him in that instant, as a simple solution to the hurt Marc tried to hide in his voice but failed miserably. It’s pointless to act like they can fool each other like that, and after all these years they should’ve stopped trying, but old habits don’t die that easily.

“Should I ask you about the game or would you rather not to speak about it?” Bernd asks while he hugs him close to his chest, just like how they slept last night, but this time, vice-versa.

Marc just shakes his head and mumbles a “ _don’t wanna”_ that Bernd can’t hear properly, but he wriggles himself more into Bernd’s embrace and Bernd decides not to push this more. In the end, if that’s what Marc needs to feel better, he’ll gladly be his teddy bear all day long.

Maybe because he’s still tired from the game and the flight and the frustration from last night, or maybe because Bernd was goddamn comfy and he’s playing with his hair idly, Marc falls asleep in ten minutes or so. If anyone asks him, he’ll totally blame it on the UEFA and Lufthansa. Or maybe that little kid who gave the assist for Roma’s third goal. Yeah, that kid’s all to blame.

***

When he wakes up, it’s so much similar to his dream that at first he thought this is the replay of it.

He didn’t even notice he’s about to fall asleep, but he wakes up cradled against Bernd's chest just like he was in his dream. He looks up to see Bernd’s looking at him with the softest expression there’s possible, still playing with the short strands on in his nape. They are half lying/half sitting on Bernd’s sofa instead of a metal bench this time, but apart from that, it’s pretty the same.

Bernd leans down a little to kiss him just like in his dream, this time Marc is determined to finish what they couldn’t finish in his dream. Their lips are so close that he could taste the raspberry (not cinnamon) in Bernd’s breath, only a second apart from each other. He tilts his head to meet him halfway and…

And then, Bernd’s lips are on his.

If you ask him any other time, there’s a 100000% chance that Marc will deny he was slightly scared to open his eyes with a ridiculous fear that it’s actually a dream. He’ll definitely deny it.

He will also deny that he felt any kind of relief when he opened his eyes and saw Bernd with all his glory. No one can prove otherwise anyway. 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedbacks/Kudos are always appreciated. Also, you can find me on tumblr: leonhoeretzka.tumblr.com


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